


Beauty of the Thorns

by EndoratheWitch



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, Castles, Curses, F/M, Lute - Freeform, Minstrel, Reverse Beauty and the Beast, Traveling bard, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2020-08-19 21:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20216704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoratheWitch/pseuds/EndoratheWitch
Summary: Bog becomes lost in a forest and stumbles upon a castle





	1. The Kidnapping of a Lute

The rain lashed down to soak through the traveler’s clothing to his skin, making him shiver in his cotton cape and tunic, which only made the dizziness from his fall that much worse. Bog had given up on keeping the hood of his cloak up, as the rain had just soaked right through. Every inch of him was wet and cold, even his leather boots were soaked through, and he was exhausted from his journey. He reached out to lay his hand against the dark trunk of a tree, trying to get his bearings as he looked around through the darkened forest, but he had to accept the fact that he was hopelessly lost. He reached back to touch his head where he hit it when his horse tossed him off after that bolt of lightning slammed into the path in front of them. He could feel a small goose egg back there and his fingers came away streaked with rainwater and blood. 

“Fooking fook,” Bog hissed to himself in his thick accent and leaned against the tree. 

He had been traveling to a new village, a place that he had been told by a family in the last town hadn’t seen a traveling minstrels in years. The promise of a hot meal and good pay had influenced Bog’s decision to try to make for the town instead of taking the road home. His reasoning had been that one more town after months away would not make that much of a difference in his travel time. Besides, he had thought, a fuller pocket of gold to bring home to his mother was always worth a few extra miles. 

But then an unexpected storm rolled in and he was lost in unfamiliar territory. 

Bog closed his eyes. Not only had his horse thrown him, but she had taken off with his saddlebags. All Bog had on him was his lute and the few things on his person, his coin, a small sack of dried fruit, his waterskin, his dagger, and extra strings for his lute. Not enough to survive lost in the woods, especially in an area he had never traveled. 

Bog turned and rested his aching and dizzy head against the trunk of the tree when something heavy hit him from behind. Bog let out a startled yelp as he was slammed up against the wet tree. He felt something heavy on his back pulling at him. Bog turned while at the same time reaching behind him. He felt wet fur, but could see nor get hold of whatever it was that had him, but his groping made the creature squeak as it struggled with him. 

“Get off me ye fookin cunt!” Bog hissed trying to get at the creature as it clawed at him, but it hadn’t hurt him yet, whatever it was. Bog spun around in a circle slapping at his back in a way that might have been comical if his situation had been different when whatever it was leapt off of him, causing Bog to stagger at the sudden lightness… 

Bog realized instantly he was much lighter than he should have been. He reached behind him to feel that his lute was gone. Bog spun around to see the creature that had attacked him sat on its haunches watching him, his lute held in its hands. 

The creature was about the size of a medium size dog covered in white fur. Its face had a long and narrow snout with small, dark oval shaped eyes, strangely human-like hands, and a long, thin whip-like tail. 

Bog blinked in surprise and hissed. “What are you?” 

The creature made a soft squeak, followed by a mischievous smile...The creature smiled at him! 

Or that may have been Bog’s imagination he thought since he was still feeling dizzy from the fall and his head was beginning to ache. 

Bog stepped slowly toward the strange animal, his hand out. “Give me back my lute. You don’t want that…” He reached for the bag of dried fruit at his belt, slowly easing it free while trying to keep his shivering to a minimum. The creature watched him with what he thought was curiosity; it strangely didn’t seem afraid of him. Bog poured the fruit into his hand, trying to shield it from being pounded to the ground by the rain. 

“See? I have something sweet…” Bog held his hand out. The creature moved a little closer--clutching his lute firmly--its long nose sniffing the air in front of his hand. 

“Come on now…” Bog said softly. “You know you want it…” 

Bog began to reach for his lute while slowly putting the hand with the dried fruit out farther… 

Only to have the little monster squeak and take off at a run, then stop again a few paces away. 

Bog snarled. “Oh come on! Give it back ye little beastie!” 

Bog threw the dried fruit down in frustration and took off at a run thinking to catch the creature, but the little white thing took off again and stopped, staying just out of Bog’s reach. 

Bog hissed, his hands balled into fist. “Give it back!! I need that! It’s my livelihood ye little cretin!” 

The creature made a series of squeaks and took off again deeper into the rainy forest. For a split second, Bog questioned following it. He was lost, but the deeper into the woods he went, his chances of getting out again grew slimmer. That thing had his lute though, his precious lute. It wasn’t just how he made his money, playing and singing in villages and cities--it had been his father’s lute before him, and his grandfather’s before that. The instrument was imbued with its own sort of magic, filled with love, cherished, and handed down to him. He couldn’t lose it! 

Bog ran after the little imp as it raced off, just staying far enough ahead of him to be frustrating. If Bog didn’t know any better, he would assume the little thing was taking him someplace on purpose, but Bog didn’t have time to think about it. He had to get his lute back. He was terrified that if he didn’t stick close to the creature in the rain and the thick forest, he would lose it, and with it his lute, the only thing he had of his father’s. Bog swallowed down hard on the sudden rush of pain that burned his eyes, but luckily any tears would vanish in the rain. 

He rushed after the creature, moving deeper and deeper into the forest, which grew darker and darker, but he kept his focus on the creature. He did not notice how the little thing kept taking Bog down paths that were relatively smooth, game trails, providing surer footing as Bog gave chase... 

* 

The two of them ran through the rain, marked on occasion by a flash of lightning and rumble of thunder. Darkness descended quickly, making it harder and harder for Bog to navigate, though the white fur of the little monster was like a beacon of light in the darkness. Bog didn’t notice when the little monster led him past a thick wall of thorns, so focused as he was on the instrument stealing creature. The wall of vegetation was so thick that an army would not have been able to penetrate through the wall of thorns. The wall was well over twelve feet high, the vines a thick conglomeration of thorns from tiny ones no bigger or thicker than a needle, to other thorns that were as large and as thick as Bog himself who was well over six feet tall, thin, but not skinny with his broad shoulders and chest that flowed into a slender waist. The thorns created a twisted, dense wall of impenetrable vegetation. In addition to the thickness of the thorny vines, each thorn dripped with a thick green poison--viscous enough that rainwater did not wash it away from the thorns--that might have given Bog pause, if he had seen them, but his focus was only for the creature that held his lute. 

* 

The imp raced through the deadly vines and thorns, leading Bog through a small entrance that time, weather and other things had worn into the enchanted fall leaving a space big enough for Bog to pass through without ever needing to touch the vines and their deadly thorns. The creature led Bog into a stone covered courtyard where the remains of a once beautiful fountain and garden were now only shadows of their former glory. 

Bog continued to give chase, failed to see the statues covered in the now wild and untamed roses of a once beautiful garden, or the moss covered cobblestones that made up the courtyard floor and path, the once smooth stones now worn and grey. 

It wasn’t until the creature had rushed through an open door and into a large room that Bog finally stopped, cold, wet and panting for breath, his vision spinning until he thought he might vomit. Lights flared into existence in wall sconces and a chandelier that hung from the high, vaulted ceiling when Bog and the creature entered the building, chasing away only a few of the shadows. Bog only now realized as he blinked rain out of his eyes and saw the light that he was out of the rain. 

The little creature stopped and Bog gasped bending over to lay his hands on his knees. The wave of nausea that washed over him was almost too much and his head pounded like a smith’s hammer against an anvil. He looked over at the little thing with his lute as he struggled to catch his breath. The thing had run up some stairs and now sat on a step, holding his lute and looking smug. Bog narrowed his eyes at the thing, but then his eyes widened in shock, surprised as a door behind the creature opened on its own. The two large doors swung open slowly. In the dim light Bog could see leafy vines had grown over the doors and the walls of this place obscured most of what had once had been a beautiful room. But Bog was only dimly aware of this as he watched someone step out onto the top of the stairs, light framing her. 

She was beautiful...in a frightening way. 

A woman stepped into view on the top of the stairs. She was petite, wearing a long flowing gown of dark purples and blues with a fur-lined cloak of midnight blue over the gown, but it was her face that drew Bog’s complete attention. 

The lower half of her face showed rosebud lips of a light plum color in skin that held a pale grey hue. Her nose was petite and dainty, but framing her nose and extending up over the upper half of her face were layers of thick, greyish bone mask that covered her eyes and moved out from her face, fanning out to frame her face. The mask (Bog hoped it was a mask) was adorned with three sets of horns; one set of small horns struck out from just above her ears, over them was a larger set of horns that came up and curled back toward her hair, and finally, from her brow jutted another set of smaller, more danity horns that formed a “V” shape at the crown of her head. What hair Bog could see was brown and short, looking as if someone had taken a blade to it, chopping the hair off in angry swipes that left it sticking out around her head like another set of flimsy horns. 

She reached up a hand to lay it against her chest in surprise when she saw him, showing Bog that this female creature’s hands ended in long, elegant claws, while at the same time a long, whip-like tail moved to circle around her feet. 

“ISLA! What have you done?” The voice was soft and feminine. Bog stared in shock at the creature, startled when what he thought was a mask shifted on her to reveal large, brown eyes. 

She stared down at him and growled. “Who are you?! What are you doing here?” 

Bog felt himself weave in place, unsteady. He felt hot and confused as he stared at the most beautiful monster he had ever seen. 

“I think I might be dead,” Bog said simply before his eyes rolled and he crashed to the floor. 

* 

Marianne yelped in surprise when the man passed out. She grabbed up the skirt of her dress and rushed down the stairs past Isla and over to the man who now laid sprawled on her floor. He had landed on his side, but she easily rolled him over onto his back. The man had sharp features--a long, sharp nose and cheekbones, with a long narrow chin and soft, full lips. She laid a light touch on his forehead, felt the heat radiating off his skin. 

“He has a fever,” Marianne said to herself, glancing over at the imp who had come down the stairs, still holding a lute of all things. 

Marianne frowned at the creature. “Did you take that from him?” 

Isla nodded and gave her an impish smile. 

Marianne narrowed her eyes. “Why? This poor man has a fever. Did you make him run after you in this storm?” 

The imp once more nodded. 

Marianne murmured as she gazed down at the man on her floor. “Poor man--fever and the sight of me must have been too much for him.” 

She scooped him up with ease. With her transformation, she had also gained more strength. She adjusted her hold on him, laying the man’s head against her shoulder. She glared down at Isla. 

“Go and get the others, Isla. I’ll need a room prepared for him...and bring the poor man’s lute.” Marianne muttered as she moved at a quick pace back up the stairs with the man in her arms. 

Isla followed behind Marianne looking not the least bit ashamed of what it had done as it cradled the lute against its furry chest. 

* 

Marianne took the man to one of the many vacant rooms that made up the castle. While several rooms were occupied by the silent, sleeping members of her family and the staff that once helped in the running of the castle, many rooms still lay vacant. 

The room she chose for the man was mostly clean, the leafy vines (unlike the deadly, thorned ones that encircled the castle grounds) had not grown into this room like many other areas of the castle, but age had deteriorated the curtains that once hung over the windows and the carpets had become thin and threadbare. The large canopy bed itself was still in good shape and the thick cotton and silk bedding was still usable thanks to the help of the many fey creatures that had come to live with her since her curse. Her cursed home gave them safe sanctuary from humans and in return they did little things such as help her keep the dust from her family and friends and keep the rooms relatively clean. 

As Marianne entered the room, the enchantment that lay over the castle made the candles in the room light, bathing the room in a warm, orange glow. She carried the feverish man in her arms to the bed. Just before she laid him down, three tiny fairies came flying into the room. The small pixies rushed past her, their colorful bodies filling the room with bright glows of pink, purple, and green. The three pixies rushed to the bed and together they pulled the blankets back for Marianne. 

She smiled as the diminutive, dainty fey flew around her head. “Thank you ladies.” 

They answered her with joyful sounds of tinkling and chimes. 

Marianne gently laid the man down. His fever had risen as she carried him up the stairs, the heat from his body transferring through his wet clothing. 

“Poor man,” she said again as she laid him down before she set about removing his soaked clothing. 

The man was well built she thought, long and lean, attractive with his sharp features and slender, long, calloused fingers--the hands of a musician. He was also well muscled with his flat stomach, long legs, and narrow hips, someone accustomed to travel. 

She shook her horned head and continued to work to remove his clothing, pushing aside her stray thoughts on how attractive this complete stranger was... 

As she stripped him, she saw that he carried several scars on his body, stories of a life on the road, or maybe other things, perhaps combat. Marianne felt herself flush as she undressed him, her eyes taking in his nudity. Not only was his face quite attractive, but his body was also quite...she swallowed at her thought...pleasing. 

She sighed at herself. She didn’t know if it was her loneliness or that she thought the man was quite attractive, but she frowned when she noticed the three pixies were hovering beside her looking down at the naked man. Marianne waved her hand to brush them away. “All right, that’s enough.” 

The pixies chimed, clearly laughing at her as they flew off about the room. 

Once she had stripped him, the pixies carried his wet clothing toward the room’s fireplace. When they approached, a fire sprang to life in the deep, stone fireplace providing additional light in a comforting orange glow, as well as more warmth. The pixies hung the human’s clothes on the mantel and laid his boots in front of the fire to dry. 

Marianne pulled the blankets up to cover the man’s nudity, tucking the blankets around him. She laid her clawed hand against his forehead with a careful caress of his brow. She frowned, her lips pursed. He felt hot to her touch, too hot. Her claws trailed gently along his cheek and down his chin. He was so attractive, she thought. The poor man was burning with fever having been lost in the rain and the forest. He must have been lost already if Isla found him; even with taking his lute the imp would never have found him if he hadn’t already been in the forest… 

While the pixies laid out his clothing and boots, Isla had come into the room carrying the man’s lute and set it on the foot of the bed. 

Marianne ran her claws through the man’s dark hair. “You poor thing. We’ll get you fixed up in no time, and send you on your way.” 

Isla made a soft squeak causing Marianne to look down at the white furred trickster. “We can’t keep him here Isla. He’ll be terrified when he sees me. We just need to get him well and help him escape the forest.” 

Isla made a face, wrinkling up her long snout at Marianne, which was repeated by the pixies who fluttered over to Isla, circling the imp’s head and made annoyed chimes at Marianne. 

Marianne sighed at the pixies and the imp. “He isn’t the one to break the spell.” 

The four of them chimed and squeaked, clearly annoyed with her. She sighed, turning back to the man. “We’ll care for him and help him leave--that is all.” 

Marianne continued to stroke her claws through his hair while she stared down at him. “We’ll make sure he is well…” 

* 

Bog groaned and stretched his entire body, arching his back and stretching his legs before he rolled over onto his side to snuggle into the soft blankets and pillows. He felt as if he had been sleeping forever, but he still felt disinclined to move. He felt weak, but at the same time better. He was sure he had been sick. He recalled flashes of waking, strange dreams of pixies and little white furred creatures and beautiful monsters. He recalled the feeling of burning up, his entire body on fire, but then the peaceful darkness of sleep had taken away all of that. 

His stomach growled and his bladder protested his not moving until Bog sighed and rolled over onto his back. He was naked, he realized with a frown. He never slept naked, but he supposed if he had been really that sick... 

Bog opened his eyes and frowned. This wasn’t his bed at home, nor was it like any bed he had ever slept in at an inn during his travels. The bed had a canopy; rich dark red fabric was stretched over the top. He sat up slowly. His body ached from his illness, but it still felt good to move. 

He looked around the room in surprise. The room was ornate, the walls painted a faded, yet still rich shade of red to compliment the fabric that clung to the balcony of the bed. It was hard to determine since the only light in the room came from the fireplace, but there looked to be paintings on the wall, and actual rugs on the floor. The fireplace was large with a healthy roaring fire burning inside. 

“Where am I?” Bog said out loud to himself as if he were a little afraid of an answer as he took in the room and the bed. 

He moved with care, hoping for a chamber pot when he saw his boots, and next to him his lute. The overwhelming relief and joy he felt when laying eyes on his lute made tears burn his eyes. It was a little foolish, he thought, to react such a way to an instrument, but that lute meant everything to him. He reached up and wiped the dampness away as he rose up to his feet, the memory of his chase through the rainy forest came rushing back and that little creature who had taken his lute, which made him wonder, where was he? Had the chase been real? Bog frowned. If it wasn’t real, then where was he? 

As he rose to his full height, he thanked the gods that the room was warm since he was naked and felt weak as a baby. He moved slowly and searched the room. He found the chamber pot, (bless whoever had provided one), a bowl of clean warm water with a chunk of soap and a rag, but not his clothing--only his boots and his lute. The clothing he did find was not his at all, not even close to something he would own. Bog found a fine white linen shirt, a pair of black breeches, white stockings, a waistcoat of gold and silver, and a frock coat of rich blue. Bog stared at the garments. They were rich, expensive and finely made. When he picked up the waistcoat he could see the intricate details in the ornate stitching. He saw nothing else in the room for him to wear. After he washed, he put them on with a shake of his head and a self-mocking smirk. 

Once he was dressed Bog, decided to go in search of his host (taking his lute with him for fear of losing it again, even if the chase through the rain was only a dream, the worry about his lute was real) and hopefully some food. His stomach felt as if it were trying to eat itself. 

* 

The hallway was dark when he opened the door, but once he stepped out into the hall itself, candles came to life, the sconces along the wall burst into flame. He frowned, looking one way then another. That was bloody strange, he thought. 

The hall was a pale grey color with patches of rose. The rose color on the walls was faded, with the grey stone showing through, the paint peeled in places giving the hall a strange look, like a ripped painting. He could see faded tapestries in places, holes marring the scenes depicted on them, but the strangest part (besides the self-lighting candles) were the vines, thick green leafy vines growing along the walls, laced along the edges like some sort of fantastical trim. Some of the vines bore small pink flowers, primroses Bog thought by the look of them, filling the hall with a light floral scent. Bog began walking slowly in the direction he hoped would lead him to the main room of the castle, because that could only be where he was with the rich room and clothing, a castle, maybe an old castle but a castle all the same. But why would a lord or lady take care of him? He was a nobody, a traveling minstrel. It didn’t make any sense. After a little bit, Bog found some stairs and made his way down into a large banquet hall. Here, as with the hall, the lights sprang to life the moment he entered the room. 

“Nice trick,” he whispered. 

As he moved down into the room, he saw a large fireplace in which a roaring fire cast light and heat and a long table with a rich red table cloth covering it. On the table sat food, though not just a few simple dishes. The dishes on the table were rich, foods a man like him had never seen, let alone tasted. He saw plates of roasted meat simmering in thick sauces, fruits of every kind--including some he didn’t know. He noted all sorts of vegetables and vegetables dishes, game birds, turkeys--and the desserts! Bog saw rich puddings, three layered cakes, petit fours, along with marzipan, and sugared fruits. There were bottles of wine, glass decanters of amber liquid that might be whisky, and what looked like sugared fruit juices. 

Bog’s eyes were wide, but then he frowned. The table was set for a banquet of at least fifty people or more. There were rows of wooden chairs with silver and gold plates before the seats. Even the dinnerware, he thought with a shake of his head, was made from rich materials. There were jeweled goblets, fine glass flutes filled with sparkling liquid, and at each end of the long table sat an ornate chair. Each of the chairs at the ends of the table had a high back and deep delicate carvings of fairies and vines. The chairs reminded Bog of thrones. Castle, he thought. This was a castle, definitely. 

He walked toward the table and sniffed. The food smelled real and delicious; his stomach reacted as if it were real. He dipped his finger into one of the cakes, taking just a tiny bit of frosting onto his finger. He held it up looking at it. The frosting was thick and creamy. He delicately touched the tip of his tongue to it… 

“It’s all real I promise you.” 

Bog spun around to see a figure standing in the shadows near the fireplace. The fire just barely outlined the figure, but Bog was sure it was a woman. 

“Ah...I should thank you. I assume I’ve been ill?” Bog asked the shadow. 

“You have been very ill. You ran a high fever for several days. I’m afraid that your illness was in part my fault. My...friend took your lute and led you through the forest and the rain, though I assume since you were in the forest in the first place it was because you were already lost.” 

Her voice was beautiful, melodic to his trained ear. Bog knew this woman would make a good singer. 

He stayed where he was as he spoke. “Aye, my horse threw me and I hit my head…I was trying to find my way, but I got disoriented. I think I might have hit my head harder than I thought, then with the rain and that...” Bog pressed his lips together as he realized he was rambling. “Ah...thank you.” He frowned. “That thing that took my lute--it’s yours?” 

The woman laughed. “No, just a friend. I’m sorry they took your lute, it must be precious to you for all the trouble you went through to get it back.” 

Bog nodded. “Aye,” he confirmed to the woman. “It was my father’s and his father’s before that...my grandfather made it, and...it’s my livelihood.” 

“No wonder. I'm glad you have it back. Now you must eat. You’ve been ill for the last five days. You need to build your strength again so that you can return home.” 

Bog glanced at the table, then at the shadow. “Will you dine with me?” 

Bog sensed more than he saw that his host was uncomfortable before she spoke. “You would not want to eat with me.” 

Bog frowned. “Why not? You’ve been more than kind to me.” 

“If you saw me, you would be terrified.” 

Bog rubbed the back of his neck. “Terrified? But why?” 

“I am...I am a monster. You would run in terror, screaming if you saw me. I would not want you to hurt yourself because of me.” Her voice sounded so sad to Bog. He took a step closer to her. 

“I would not run.” He smiled. “I’ve been called hideous by others, told that I am ugly. I would never do that to another. So please, come eat with me,” Bog said softly. “It’s only proper, for what you’ve done for me so far.” 

He sensed her hesitation, her fear. “I won’t blame you if you realize you are wrong, but…” 

Bog watched as the woman stepped out of the shadows into the light. He heard the sound of hooves against the stone floor as she came into view. His eyes widened. This was the woman, the monster he had seen before he passed out, the one he had thought of as a dream, the beautiful monster... 

Bog’s heart beat quickly as he took in her many horns, her tail that moved slowly behind her, and the long claws on the ends of her fingers. 

Her visage was frightening, but at the same time she was beautiful. She moved with an elegance and grace that spoke of royalty and her eyes were the most warm brown he had even seen. And the mask she wore that covered her upper face...he realized she wore no mask. The horns and mask were actually a part of her, looked like finely grown bone. 

She was monstrous, but the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. 

* 

Marianne was shocked when he didn’t run screaming. It had been decades since anyone had been in the castle. When she was first cursed, many came here to see the monster for themselves or to try to break the curse in the hopes of marriage to a princess or rewards of gold and silver, but all had left in terror at the sight of her. 

But not this man, not this simple minstrel. 

“What is your name?” she asked softly. 

He smiled at her. “Bog, and yours?” 

“Marianne,” she said in a whisper. 

Bog stepped closer and held out his hand to her. Marianne didn’t move at first. This was all so unexpected, she wasn’t sure what was happening, but when he didn’t move, she laid her hand in 

Bog’s long-fingered grasp. He wrapped his hand around hers and led her to the table. 

“Marianne is a very pretty name,” He said with a smile as he let go of her hand and pulled out a chair for her.


	2. The Doll and The Beast

The sweet scent of roses and primroses tickled Bog’s nose as he slowly came awake. He smiled, pressing his nose into the pillow. He would have gone back to sleep except that he heard the soft tinkling sound of the three pixies that worked for Marianne open the door and fly into his room. The sound was soft, barely audible, but Bog had been here a week and recognized the soft chimes, followed by a burst of flower fragrance. The pixies’ flowers were different than the rose and primrose scent he associated with Marianne. 

Bog groaned loudly when he heard the pixies yank the heavy curtain that covered his window aside and let the morning sunlight stream into the room. 

“Get up! Get up!!” The three colorful pixies chimed in unison, coming back to fly circles over his head. 

Bog groaned yanking his pillow out from under his head to smash it over his head (trusting the pixies and their speed to get out of the way in time.) 

“It’s too early,” he groaned knowing full well that it wasn’t early. 

He felt movement on the pillow and then his darkness under the pillow was lit up in a soft yellow glow. He opened his eyes to see Daisy, the youngest of the three pixies, peeking under the pillow at him, holding up part of the pillow sham with her hand. She smiled, her yellow, flower petal hair hovering around her head as if she had a wind of her own. Her features were delicate, her eyes large and gold, her skin tinged yellow as were her wings, and her dress looked as if it were made from the petals of the flower for which she was named. 

“Today is the day her ladyship takes you for a walk in the gardens! Aren’t you excited Bog? You’re strong enough for a walk!” Daisy smiled brightly, prompting Bog to smile in return. Each of the pixies were sweet and cheerful, always happy--at least for the week that he had known them. Even if they had no concept of personal space or letting a man sleep in. 

“Yes, I am a little excited,” he whispered, keeping his tone gently in the tiny space, not wanting to accidental blow Daisy away with his breath. 

Daisy grinned. “I knew you were. Now get dressed, the clothes you have today are quite fetching!! Her ladyship is going to swoon!” Daisy giggled and slipped out from under his pillow. 

Bog sighed, knowing he had lost this battle and sat up. The room that Marianne had given him was lit by a warm fire that burned in the fireplace and the liquid grey light that came in through the window. During the last week that he had spent here, conscious, continuing to recover from his illness, he had not once been a sunny day. The days were always overcast, dreary, slightly rainy or foggy, but never sunny. 

As he sat on the bed, the pixies spoke to each other in their rapid speech that sounded like musical chimes to Bog. They flew over to him, carrying parts of the outfit that had been provided for him. 

Today he was provided with dark brown breeches, dark brown leather boots with intricate lacing that reached his knees, along with warm, brown leggings, a dark blue dyed cotton tunic with a dark brown doublet trimmed and decorated in gold stitched vines. There was a red sash to wrap around his waist and a necklace with a leather band holding an amber pendant. The outfit, like each and every one he had worn since he woke here, was richly crafted and beautiful. Each day he was given something new to wear and when he asked about the clothing the pixies always answered that the magic provided all. 

The pixies laid the clothing at the foot of Bog’s bed. Wisteria flew over the items and exclaimed over the doublet, her little hands on her cheeks, her purple wings a blur. “Oh, it’s so handsome!!!” 

Begonia was a pink blur as she spun around the room. “Oh! And the blue will bring out your eyes!!” 

All three pixies sighed happily and swooned in the air, causing Bog to blush. “Stop, yer all silly. Ye know that don’t ye?” 

Daisy giggled. “Her ladyship will think you are handsome today.” 

Begonia and Wisteria nodded their tiny heads in agreement, but Bog snorted. “Ye all have a very distorted view of handsome.” 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, taking a moment to steady himself. He was still weak, still recovering from his illness, but he felt stronger every day. His relationship with the mysterious mistress of the house was polite, though he wasn’t really sure what to make of her. Their interactions over the last week had been limited to dinner. His other meals he took alone or with the pixies, and occasionally, the little imp named Isla. 

He tried his best to engage Marianne in conversation, but it didn’t take long for him to discover how shy she was. He noticed each night that Marianne did her best to hide her face from him, within shadows or sometimes she would wear a delicate bit of lace and gold that covered her lower face, though there was little she could do to hide the horns she bore. 

He sighed. 

He would like to find out more about her, his mysterious benefactor, how she had come to be as she was, how she had ended up in this enchanted castle, and whether or not she was alone. (He knew about the pixies and Isla, but he heard sounds in the castle at all hours that made him wonder if there were others living here.) Marianne had nursed him back to health and had been nothing but kind--if standoffish with him. He only knew there was a curse because the pixies had told him about a curse that could only be broken by true love's kiss. He had tried to ask Marianne one evening, but she had stood and abruptly left without a word to him. The next evening she was late coming to dinner, late enough that he had feared she might not come at all. 

Her standoffish behavior, her unwillingness to answer questions about herself or the curse, and her need to hide herself all made Bog surprised that she was willing to take him outside at all, to walk with him in the daylight hours. She had done her best to hide after that first dinner together, so much so that he was sure she would shy away from going out in the sunlight, no matter how cloudy and grey it was. But last night, after he asked about taking a turn around the gardens to help in rebuilding his strength (and after she had whispered arguments with the pixies and Isla he noticed) Marianne had said softly that she would walk with him. 

Bog found himself excited by the idea. 

“All right ladies. If ye don’t mind I would like to dress before breakfast.” Bog stood slowly as 

Daisy flew in front of his face, her wings going at the breakneck speed of a hummingbird. “I don’t know why you don’t let us stay and help. We’ve all seen you naked before.” 

Bog blushed as Begonia and Wisteria both chimed in their agreement with Daisy. “Because it ain’t proper and when you saw me naked I was unconscious, so I couldn’t do anything about it,” Bog groused. 

The three pixies giggled, a dainty chiming sound of laughter filled the air as the three of them flew toward the door. 

Daisy stopped at the door. “Hurry down for breakfast!! We’ll be waiting!” 

Bog smiled and waved her off; the pixies closed the door for him. 

Bog shook his head and walked over to the basin which was, as always, filled with water just warm enough to wash with, a bar of rose soup and a clean rag waiting for him. At night when he returned to his room there would be a large cast iron tub filled with warm water. 

Bog washed his face, rubbing his hands over his chin, thinking briefly about shaving before deciding to put it off until tomorrow since he felt only a little stubble. He dressed and combed his hair, grabbed his lute, and threw its strap over his back before he stepped out into the hall. He never liked to go anywhere without his lute, not that he thought Isla would steal it again...but he thought Isla might try stealing it again. 

When he arrived in the hall he wasn’t surprised to see Isla sitting on her haunches waiting for him in the hall. The furry little creature smiled at him. 

Bog smiled crookedly. Over the last several days he had grown fond of the irritating little thing. “How are you this morning?” 

Isla wrinkled her snout at him, her tail moving quickly back and forth, her dark eyes bright as she rubbed her stomach. Bog chuckled. “Hungry I see. Well come on then, let’s go see what the castle’s provided for breakfast this morning.” 

Isla made a happy squeak, did a quick series of runs around his ankles in her excitement before she took off down the hall, expecting Bog to follow her. Bog smirked and started down the vine covered hall, heading toward the dining room. 

* 

The scent of fresh baked bread rolled over Bog before he stepped through the doorway into the dining hall. He stepped into the dark dining hall to see that the enchanted table was set with enough food to feed an army instead of a minstrel, a cursed mistress, a trio of pixies and...whatever Isla was. 

Bog headed over to the table, saw Isla was already there, grabbing as many food items as she could and stuffing them into her cheeks like the greedy little thing she was. Bog chuckled, picking up one of the fine china plates trimmed in delicate gold painted roses and looked over this morning's assortments. There were thick and fluffy pancakes piled high and steaming on a plate, rich yellow butter, large circles of yellow and white cheeses, jars of jam from bright strawberry to quince, honeyed syrups, boiled quails eggs, chicken eggs, a bowl of boiled beans, marzipan, a wide variety of breads, dried meats, savory meat pies, and plates filled with fresh fruits, nuts, and even a few brightly colored fresh vegetables, as well as loaves of freshly baked bread. There were several large silver pitchers filled with chilled fruit juices, fresh water, and--which Bog always found delightful--hot tea. 

Bog didn’t fill his plate, but he did pick up some pancakes, some fruit and some boiled quail eggs. His appetite was returning, but he doubted he would finish everything on his plate. He sat down, resting his lute beside him, and picked up the pot of tea, poured the steaming liquid into his cup when he saw movement near the doorway. He turned and frowned, but his frown quickly turned an expression of startlement. 

In the doorway stood Marianne. 

She was dressed in a floor length gown a shade of purple so dark that it almost looked black. The dress was off the shoulder showing off her smooth, pale shoulders. The sleeves were long bell sleeves that hid her hands. From the shoulders, the dress flowed into a corset that showed off Marianne’s slender figure. The middle of the corset held dark feathers layered one over the other in dark purples and blues, down to the long flowing skirt. Her horns had delicate chains that draped between them like fine golden spiderwebs with tiny jewels of the same shade as her dress that danced delicately on the chains. Her short brown hair was decorated with tiny gold beads and what look like twisted, fine gold wire. Lastly Marianne wore the black silk mask over her lower face, held in place by a delicate gold chain. 

“Good morning,” she said shyly. 

Bog was surprised to see her for breakfast, but he shot to his feet nearly, knocking over his tea ad his lute; he barely managed to catch both items and set them straight. “Marianne! Good morning.” He smiled at her, felt his eyes were held open wide, and realized he might just look like a madman. Or a buffoon. Or both. 

Bog could just barely see the hints of a smile behind the dark silk across her mouth as she moved into the room, a slit in the dress parting as she moved quickly, revealing the dark fur that covered her calf from the knee down as she strode toward the table. Her hooves hit the floor with a delicate click, her head kept down in a demure expression. She walked to the far end of the table, her tail swaying gently behind her she took her seat at the head of the table. 

Bog picked up a clean plate. “May I fix you a plate?” 

Marianne hesitated. “You should be resting, I can serve myself.” 

Bog smiled. “I know, but I would like to.” 

Marianne looked conflicted for a moment before she nodded. “Very well.” 

Bog moved quickly, his heart beating hard as he carefully selected food for her based on what little he had seen her eat during their dinners together. He filled her plate with slices of fruit, bread, and cheese, and poured her a chilled glass of fruit juice. He approached her and set the plate in front of her along with the goblet. Marianne looked down and away, avoiding his eyes, but he saw her warm brown eyes slide over to gaze at him. 

“You don’t usually have breakfast with me,” he said softly before he walked swiftly back to his own seat. 

“No, I don’t, but…” she answered, glancing down the table at him and added softly. “I was convinced that I should eat before I go for a walk this morning…I was told it was for my health.” 

Bog smiled at her from his seat. “Let me guess: Daisy, Wisteria, and Begonia?” 

Marianne nodded and the jewels attached to the chains that were woven through her horns chimed softly. “Yes,” she said with clear embarrassment in her voice. She picked up a slice of apple and delicately held the cloth over her mouth up to take a tiny bite, treating Bog once more to the hint of purple lips in her pale grey face. 

Bog decided to hold off on conversation and focus on eating instead of struggling to force Marianne into conversation. He picked up his fork and cut into his pancakes after slathering them with butter and syrup. 

When he spoke, it was without thinking. The pancakes, the amount of food on the table made him think of his mother. “My mother would love this though.” He indicated the spread of food before them. “I think she would try and make me eat everything on this table. She’s always complaining about me being too skinny.” He placed a bite of pancake into his mouth with a moan of pleasure. 

Marianne swallowed her bite of apple. “You’re not too skinny, I think, in general…” She felt a blush warm her cheeks. She hoped Bog couldn’t tell, but she continued speaking while simultaneously wishing she had kept her mouth shut. Conversation was an activity that had required much of her engagement in a long time. “...but I could see where a mother would worry. You lost too much weight during your illness,” she said gently. “And you seem to be one of those people that cannot keep weight on without effort.” 

Bog chuckled and shrugged while cut into the meat pie on his plate. The delicious smell of savory gravy and cooked beef drifted up to his nostrils. “Aye, keeping weight on has always been a difficult prospect for me. I can eat like a pig and still not gain much weight and if I don’t eat, I end up looking fragile, like a victim of a terrible disease.” He laughed. “So it’s a good thing I enjoy eating then, isn’t it?” He smiled at her and Bog could see the shadow of a smile that graced her lips behind the silk. He was struck by the thought that Marianne would look exquisite when she let herself fully smile. He would like to see that, he thought, turning back to his breakfast. 

The next few minutes they ate in a comfortable silence. Even Isla remained quiet, but he supposed it was hard for the impish creature to make any sounds with her cheeks stuffed so full. 

When Bog was finished, he leaned back in his chair, his hands on his stomach. He hadn’t eaten much--still felt the effects of illness and his stomach still felt too delicate, but he felt content. “That was very good.” 

Mariane frowned. “You didn't eat much. How are you feeling?” 

Bog smiled. “Better, thank you. My strength is returning a little more every day.” 

“Are you sure you wish to go for a walk?” Marianne asked, her voice laced with concern, but Bog nodded. “Aye, a good stretch of the legs will be good for me. My mother always said that fresh air could do wonders for a person.” 

Marianne frowned slightly. “I’m not sure about the freshness of the air around here...” 

Bog stood, picked up his lute, and slung it over his shoulders before he strode over to her and held his hand out. “My lady…” 

Marianne looked at his hand for a few seconds before she put her hand in his. Bog could feel the tension there, the way she lightly touched his hand, careful of the claws on her fingers, but she didn't snatch her hand away from him. He smiled, keeping his touch gentle, not waiting for her to feel imprisoned by his touch as they left the dining room and headed outside. 

* 

The sky outside was a solid grey. There were no clouds, no visible sun, just a solid grey sky with a liquid, watery light that shone down on Bog and Marianne as they stepped outside. The gardens outside the castle had once been beautiful, Bog could see that even though they were now completely overgrown. They also must have been vast at one time, but the vines that seemed to be in every corner of the castle were also here, cutting off part of the gardens, snaking out from the wall of thorns that surrounded the castle from where they twisted through the flowering plants that were here. The vines had invaded every aspect of both the castle and the castle grounds. Bog could see the shadows of sculpted hedges that might have once been mythical beasts. He thought he saw a unicorn, and maybe a winged creature but the bushes were now masses of green interwoven with flowering roses and primroses. 

Isla bounded down the stairs, zipping pass the two of them. The little white furred imp ran ahead a few feet then surveyed back, a wide smile on her narrow snort, her dark eyes bright. She was clearly happy to be outside. 

Marianne released Bog’s hands the moment they were down the stairs. The tension rolling off of her was thick and he could see the way her shoulders were set in a tight line, her horned head bowed slightly. Bog frowned and realized being out in the light, even as weak as it was, bothered her. 

“Is the light bad for you?” He asked, stopping in his tracks. “We can go back inside…” 

Marianne had taken a few steps past him, her hooves crunching on the gravel path. She halted and he watched her tail go still. “In this light, my monstrosity is more visible. I don’t...I fear scaring you further,” she murmured. 

Bog frowned deeper while rubbing the back of his neck. “Marianne, yer not…” 

But she cut him off. “Don’t try to be nice to me--I know what I look like.” 

She began to walk, her hooves heavy on the gravel. “Just, please don’t look at me,” she murmured. 

Bog continued to frown, but he jogged to catch up to her and fell into step beside her. It was a little strange for him to be walking next to someone head and shoulders taller than him. Bog was always taller than anyone else; he was not accustomed to feeling short. 

He didn’t wait long before he asked his first question, his need to understand pushing aside his need to be polite, especially now that he was feeling better. “How long?” he asked. 

Marianne frowned behind her silk veil. “How long?” 

Bog nodded. “The curse.” He studied her profile, noting in the light that he could now see runes carved into the horns on her head. He frowned, trying to see if they were part of the spell or curse Marianne was under, or if they had been carven, but he would have to be closer, which he knew she wouldn’t allow. 

“How did you…” she began, but she could see from the corner of her eyes Bog’s smile. She noted the crooked teeth and his sensual lips and swiftly looked away. 

Bog shrugged. “I’m a minstrel. I sing about curses and lost loves, magical beasts and fairies. I can recognize a curse when I see one. So how long?” 

Marianne frowned with a tilt of her head. The chains on her horns jingled softly. “I’m not sure anymore. It could be years, centuries, decades or only days. Time has no meaning here.” 

Bog nodded. “Are ye alone?” 

Marianne glanced sideways at him to see him looking at her. His blue eyes were bright and the tunic he wore made them seem unnaturally blue. She frowned wondering if the castle had decided he was the one to break the spell and was trying to…. 

She shook her head. She had long ago given up on understanding the workings of the castle. 

“No, my sister and a few others are all under the curse as well. They are hiding from you,” she murmured. “We are all...shy,” she explained. 

There was pain in her voice that Bog could clearly hear. “I’m assuming there have been others that have made it through the poisonous thorns.” He directed his gaze to the wall of thorny vines that cut off the castle from the outside world. 

She nodded. “A few here and there find their way here. Most of them fled in terror.” 

Bog muttered with clear disgust. “Clearly a bunch of bampots and fools.” 

Marianne was startled by the statement along with the disgust in his voice. She giggled, something she had not done in a long time. She quickly brought a hand up to her lips to hide her smile. 

Bog grinned, pleased with himself at getting her to smile. 

“Do you know who cursed ye?” he asked, turning his attention to watching Isla jumping around, chasing bugs or leaves. 

“I do,” Marianne whispered. 

Bog sucked on his bottom lip, glancing over at her again, but she added nothing more. He sighed. She was beautiful, he thought; not typical in her beauty, but lovely nonetheless. He felt that if the curse was meant to make her ugly it had failed, which was why he didn’t understand why the curse hadn’t been broken by now. She was the most beautiful--and terrifying--person he had even seen and he still wanted to know if the curse could be broken. All curses could be broken, that was one thing all the songs agreed on, that curses could be broken… 

“How is the curse broken?” he asked, then flinched. He had not meant to be that blunt, so much for his skill with words. 

Marianne stopped in her tracks going very still. Even her tail went rigid. Isla stopped her playing and turned to stare at them. 

Bog cringed. He had clearly crossed a line with his host. 

Marianne turned to face him. Her brown eyes surrounded by the bone “mask” blazed with an inner fire, surrounded by red, the runes that adorned her horns burned a dark purple and the chains on her horns shuddered making small eerie chimes. Her face transformed ever so slightly into something more frightening. “There is no breaking the curse!!! There is nothing you can do, there is nothing anyone can do!! I do not want you bringing false hope into my home, making anyone here think that there will be a happy ending for us! Do not suggest that the curse will be lifted!! Because it won’t!! No one can lift my curse!! NO one can save us!!” 

She snarled, and even with the silky mask over her lower face he could see the fangs behind her delicate lips when she growled, but he also saw the tears in her eyes. Bog watched in stunned silence as she spun around, stomping past Bog, unintentionally pushing him out of her way as she did. Bog lost his footing and fell on his rear (barely moving his lute around to his front in time to spare his precious instrument.) He watched in shock as Marianne stomped back to the castle and disappeared inside. The doors slammed behind her, the sound echoing through the garden eerily. 

Bog lost all color in his face, he was breathing hard, his heartbeat rapid. Isla hurried over to him and laid her delicate pawns on his bent knee, a look of impish concern in her dark eyes. 

Bog smiled a little at the impish creature. “I’m an idiot, did ye know that?” 

Isla blinked at him, tilting her head to the side with a slight smile. 

Bog grinned at her. “Oh, I see ye did know that.” 

Bog sighed and got to his feet slowly, his body protesting the movement and reminding him that he was still recovering from a significant illness. He dusted off his rear with a groan of pain. “Well, I think the garden walk is over,” he muttered and headed back toward the castle with Isla at his heels. 

* 

Bog searched for Marianne, but he was unable to find her anywhere and he was sure she didn’t want to see him just yet. He sighed, hating himself for being such a fool. He also hated to leave a cloud of tension and bad feelings between them. Hopefully he would see her at dinner and they could talk. 

He sat down at the dining room table, resting his lute beside him. The breakfast feast was gone, but in its place where pitchers of wine, some fruit juice, and some tea. There were plates of sweets: rolls of cinnamon, little glazed fruit tarts, praline and almond muffins, and fried rolls of bread sprinkled with powdered sugar. 

Isla hurried over onto his lap and grabbed herself several of the fried rolls, shoving them all in her mouth quickly. Bog chuckled, reaching out for one himself and took a bite. The sweetened bread melted in his mouth. 

“So, do ye think we could explore the castle?” he asked Isla. “I'm finally feeling well enough to do some exploring.” 

Isla, her cheeks bulging with food, her dark eyes bright, nodded. Bog laughed grabbing another roll of fried bread and popped the sweet in his mouth before he stood up and grabbed his lute. 

“Well, I’m going to trust ye to keep me out of the places that’ll get me in trouble, all right?” 

Isla looked up at him with big innocent eyes and Bog muttered. “Which is probably one of the worst ideas I’ve had lately.” 

* 

Instead of exploring one of the lower levels first, Isla seemed to be on a mission, taking Bog on a very specific mission, to a very specific area of the castle. As he followed the white furred creature, Bog let his gaze wander. They headed up the stairs to the third floor. The flowering vines were just as thick here along the walls as anywhere else he had been (though he admitted that was mostly his room, the dining room, the front room, and the kitchen.) Underneath, in places where the vines were thin, Bog could see the faded red wallpaper, occasionally a hint of a portrait or some other painting would show through, or something gold or silver. Bog was sure he saw some jewels peeking through the vines, though he didn’t stop to look closer. The minstrel saw windows here and there along the halls they traveled, though the windows--like everything else--was covered in thick layers of magical, flowering vines, keeping much light from penetrating the castle’s overall gloom. 

Isla passed several doors without stopping. Many were closed, but when they passed the ones that were open, Bog couldn’t resist peeking inside. The rooms he could see were filled with faded, but gorgeous items, from gold trimmed vanities and beds with rich fabric comforters, one room was filled with finished and unfinished marble sculptures, another had dressmaker dummies with finished and half-finished dresses and piles of fabric everywhere (that room he noticed, while it still had flowering vines inside it, was clean, and had the quality of a room that saw use.) He saw vine covered marble statues and gold covered sinks filled with flowering vines in other rooms, but all the rooms were unoccupied. Most of the rooms felt lifeless and empty, the souls of the rooms missing, taking the warmth and vitality with them. 

Isla led Bog to a sitting room on the third floor where the vines were not as heavily present. The walls of the room were painted a light rose, and where the vines didn't cover the walls there were paintings of gardens. The room was lightly furnished with a couch, marble topped table, and comfortable chairs. Beautifully crafted vases sat on pedestals and small gold figures stood about here and there. A fireplace stood in one wall, containing a few small logs that burned steadily. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling with hundreds of lit candles that provided the warm glow in the room. Bog walked in and stopped dead. Sitting on one of the faded sofas was a young woman and standing behind her, unmoving, was a large...creature with long curling tusks, it’s body covered in brown fur. 

The young woman was working at a large piece of needlepoint set in a wooden frame. She wore a floor-length pink dress that was littered with bits of sparkling gemstones, the skirt of which settled around her like a pink cloud with capped sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Her hair was short and blonde, but the most striking thing about her was that she was made of porcelain. The porcelain was a soft, delicate white with lightly painted blue vines and flowers running down her arms, over the back of her hands, and down her slender fingers. The joints of her arms and fingers were of a white gold color and when she turned to look at him, Bog saw that the pupils of her eyes were set with light blue gemstones. 

Isla ran into the room and up to the doll, jumping on her hind legs, and placing her little paws on the doll’s lap. The doll giggled. “Oh, good morning Isla.” 

Isla made a small chattering sound and glanced over at Bog. 

The doll turned and gasped when she saw him. “Oh, you’re the minstrel!!” 

Bog stood frozen. The hulking creature behind her turned to look at him as well, its gold colored eyes narrowing in on him with an uncomfortable intensity, but before he could react, the doll was on her feet and moved forward to grab his hands. “Oh, I've wanted to meet you, but Marianne said no because you were too ill. You look much better now!! Though I must say you still look quite pale.” 

Her porcelain hands were cool to the touch as she dragged him over to the couch. The large, hirsute creature simply shifted, but did nothing other than stare. 

Bog sat down on the edge of the couch--being careful with his lute--next to the doll, having no choice since the doll would not release his hands. “So--your name is Bog correct? That is such an unusual name, but I like it! Oh my, your eyes really are the most interesting shade of blue. Marianne said they were blue…” The doll giggled. “Well, what she said was that they were the most beautiful shade of blue she had ever seen and she’s correct--they are.” 

Bog blinked, his cheeks turning red as he stared at the doll while she rambled on. She noticed his staring and stop laughing. “Oh, I’m so sorry I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Dawn, Marianne is my sister and this…” She gestured to the large creature behind the couch. “...is Sunny...my…” The doll suddenly looked very sad. “...my husband. He cannot speak in his current form.” 

The creature named Sunny bowed his head. 

Bog blinked looking between the two of them. “Husband?” 

Dawn smiled. “When my sister was cursed, everyone in the castle was cursed, except our parents...They were killed.” Her voice became soft and heavy with sadness. Bog watched her physically shake off the sadness. “So long ago, but sometimes it feels so close...yes, we are all cursed. I’m sure you’ll meet the others soon, if you stay long enough.” After she said this, Bog frowned looking between the doll and the creature, his gut twisting for the two of them. He could see what the curse had done, by making Dawn porcelain, the curse had made her delicate, breakable, and by making her husband into a large, monstrous creature, it had made him too big, possibly too clumsy to touch her. Then it had taken her husband’s voice as well. Whoever had cast this curse on Marianne and her family had been skilled, and vindictive. 

“I’m sorry,” Bog said softly. 

Dawn smiled at him. Her porcelain lips were painted a delicate pale pink. “Please, don’t be. It happened long ago and you had no part in it. I’m so glad Isla brought you up here to meet us, though. Marianne never would have, I’m afraid.” 

Bog looked between Dawn and her husband. “She told me there were others in the castle, but nothing else.” 

Dawn giggled. “Oh, I do like your accent!” She smiled at him. Despite being made of porcelain her smile was infectious. “There are indeed a handful of us, those who were here when the curse was cast.” 

“May I asked what happened?” Bog murmured. 

Dawn frowned. “I can’t tell you.” 

Bog looked perplexed. “Why not?” 

She shrugged. “It’s the curse. Only Marianne can tell you and she most likely won’t.” 

Bog wanted to ask why, but decided against it. He had seen how Marianne reacted when he had spoken of breaking the curse. “So how long have you been like this?” 

Dawn frowned, her gemstone eyes rolling to the side in thought. “You know, I’m not sure...maybe thirty, maybe fifty years…?” She shrugged, smiling at him once more. “Time doesn’t work the same here.” 

Bog nodded. “So I’ve been told.” 

“Well, enough talk of curses. Are you going to stay?” Dawn asked cheerfully. “It would be so nice if you did, someone new to talk to. We haven’t had anyone new here in ages. The last person that was here...he was some knight, come to kill my sister…” 

Bog looked shocked. “To kill her?” 

Dawn nodded. “Yes, every knight wants the opportunity to prove himself by slaying a monster.” 

“Your sister doesn’t seem like a monster to me,” Bog observed gently. 

Dawn nodded her agreement. “She isn’t, but…” She glanced at her husband who gazed back at her lovingly. “...some people only see the surface of individuals and not the person that dwells underneath. They see my sister as the monster that rules this castle, not as the princess that she is, a princess who was cursed, trapped, along with the rest of us.” Dawn spoke softly, her voice dropping into a whisper. “Not the sad, desperate and melancholy princess that she really is. My sister is no more monstrous than…” She frowned. “...Well, than you.” She pointed at Bog. 

The minstrel smiled at her. “I don’t think any of you as monstrous either.” 

Dawn beamed at him. “Oh, I’m so glad you came here.” 

Bog chuckled. “Well, I didn’t exactly come here by chance…” He glanced significantly at Isla who had her head stuck in a basket near Dawn’s needlework, her head popped out, thread hanging off her ears and her nose. 

Dawn laughed. “Oh Isla!” 

* 

Bog spoke with Dawn for well over an hour with her husband adding a few grunts here and there. Bog felt bad for the two of them. They seemed to be a sweet couple, trapped in a castle and a curse that he assumed had nothing to do with them. He wondered what it was that Marianne had done to become cursed. Wasn’t that how curses worked? Someone did something bad? 

Bog frowned. From what he had learned about Marianne from her sister and what he learned from his limited experience in Marianne’s company, he didn't think Marianne was capable of hurting someone badly or deeply enough for them to curse her. In the stories that he sang, a curse like this was usually brought about because someone had been horrible to an enchantress, or stolen something from a witch, though there were other stories in which the person who was cursed was more beautiful than the witch, or the family had done something to offend a dark fairy, or had stolen something from a being capable of lashing out with such a powerful enchantment. He rubbed his lips together in thought and said aloud to himself, “...that is very possible…” 

He pursed his lips and decided he simply needed to find out the nature of the curse.


	3. A Harp and Some Goblins

The late afternoon sun shone in through the spaces in the windows that were not heavily covered by vines and primroses. The light that leaked through made the hall that Bog was exploring feel pleasantly warm. Bog bit into the apple he carried with him as he walked quietly down the hall, looking around with wide eyes. The windows ran along one side, primroses on thick green vines covered the glass so densely that he couldn’t see out. Even the places where the vines let in some sunlight, the exposed glass was dirty and green. The other side of the hall was lined with floor to ceiling mirrors, also covered in vines and large primroses. He only knew there was a mirror underneath the growth because he had rubbed at some of the murk and was surprised to see a hint of the reflective surface hidden there. 

“This place must have been beautiful once,” Bog mused out loud, only to be answered by Isla who made a sad purring squeaking sound. 

Bog turned to look down at the little furry creature. “I bet you know all about who cursed Marianne don’t you?” Isla just stared up at him, blinking her large eyes. He sighed, taking another bite of his apple. He should have stayed to eat a proper lunch; he still wasn’t up to his full strength. He felt weak and tired, but when Marianne hadn’t shown up to eat with him, Bog had felt a pang of sadness and regret. He hadn’t meant to upset her so much during their walk. Guilt ate at him and he couldn’t sit still, so he had decided he wanted to explore some more. 

With Isla’s help, Bog had managed to avoid the watchful eyes of Wisteria, Daisy, and Begonia, slipping away before the three little pixies could tie him to a chair and force him to eat...or worse, guilt him into it. They were almost as bad as his mother. Not quite, he silently acknowledged, but he had a feeling the four of them would be quite happy together guilting Bog into doing any number of things. (Though he made sure to stuff his pockets with a couple of apples, a fresh pear, and a cherry twist pastry that he had wrapped up carefully in paper, and Isla had found him a waterskin that he filled with the fresh water the magical table had provided. It wasn’t the best lunch, but if the pixies found him he could at least show them he had taken some food with him.) 

Isla seemed to understand that he wanted to find out about the curse, about the hows and whys, how long she and the others had been like this and that yes, he wanted to break the curse. 

Especially after meeting Sunny and Dawn. 

He was a minstrel and a storyteller; fairy tales and stories were his trade. The opportunity to be in one of his stories was too great a chance to let go, which was the selfish reason. His unselfish reason for wanting to find a way to break the curse was Marianne’s haunted expression, the downturn of her exquisite lips. He didn’t need to see her eyes to recognize her pain and sympathize with her. 

He had never seen anyone so filled with sorrow and pain...and loneliness. She seemed so desperately lonely. He knew exactly what that felt like, to be utterly alone. 

Bog finished with his apple and set the core on the floor. Isla gave him a disapproving look. 

“Now don’t look at me that way--it’s just until we find our way back. Sort of a marker,” Bog answered then chuckled as Isla gave him a clearly offended look. 

Laughing, Bog shook his head. “Oh, I trust you not to get me lost, but it never hurts to have a marker in a place this big. Besides, I don’t really want to carry it around with me while I explore. I’ll simply grab it on my way back. Promise.” He crossed his heart with his finger. 

Isla stared at him and made a soft squeak that he took to mean she was fine with his answer before she took off again down the hall. 

Bog followed her at a more leisurely pace not wanting to wear himself out too soon. 

* 

Isla led Bog through several rooms, each one covered in vines, though even the vegetation could not completely conceal the splendor of each room. Bog walked along with the small creature, his mouth open while looking around. He could see hints of paintings covered by walls of vines and flowers, sculptures of ivory and white marble, furniture made from the finest of lumber, carved into beautiful shapes, now mostly hidden by the curse’s vines. 

Bog had no idea where the little creature was leading him, if she was taking him to a place that he might find answers to the curse or it she was just leading him on a merry chase, playing a game through the massive castle. Perhaps, he wondered, she never really understood him and he was simply projecting human-like traits onto her. 

After a while, moving through room after room, down a hall and up another, Bog was sure he was hopelessly lost and he had noted that he hadn't run into anyone else during his entire tour (or chase) with Isla. Marianne had said there were others and he assumed more than simply her sister and brother in-law, but that they were hiding from him. He was a weak, recovering minstrel. How frightening could he be? 

Bog groaned. He felt exhausted. 

The room he and Isla were in the middle of passing through was small compared to most that he had seen, the walls painted a dark green that matched the vines. The furniture in the room had once been covered in gold leaf, with marble accents, the cushions of the chairs in greens, embroidered with purple primroses. The primroses that grew on the vines in this room had bloomed a dark purple. (He had noticed that the primroses bloomed in colors that tended to match the rooms, not every single time, but enough times that he had taken note of it.) The furniture in this room consisted of two chairs, a desk, a mirrored vanity, a long couch, and to his surprise and pleasure, a harp. 

Plopping down in one of the chairs that he pulled with him toward the harp with a sigh of relief (removing some of the vines that clung to the chair), Bog stretched out his legs followed by a low muttering, “I think I might have overestimated my recovered strength.” 

Isla, who had pranced out of the room, came back through the doorway when she realized that Bog hadn’t followed her. 

The little creature came to a stop at his outstretched feet and looked up at him with a mixture of quizzical concern and annoyance. 

Bog smiled weakly and shrugged. “Sorry...just need a break.” 

Isla turned her head to the side and blinked her large eyes at him. He smiled at the little creature. “You can go on ahead if you want, I’ll catch up.” 

Isla turned her head the other way, blinked her large black eyes again before she turned and disappeared. Bog watched her go with a chuckle before he let out a long, low breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, wondering if he should head back to his rooms for a nap before dinner, though he hated to make the trek back having not found anything to help him solve the curse. Though he supposed something like that was not a thing that could be solved in a single afternoon. 

Bog yawned, his jaw cracking and making him wince. He really was feeling exhausted, but he opened his eyes, which had started to drift closed before he could let himself fall asleep in the chair (which he knew would happen the moment his eyes closed completely) and gazed at the harp. Unlike everything else in the room, the harp looked to be untouched by flowers, vines, or even dust. Bog sat up and scooted his chair closer to the harp. The instrument was beautiful. The decoration on the harp incorporated leaves, flowers, scrolled feet, and shapes that were reminiscent of sea shells. It was more than just an instrument, it was a work of art like nothing Bog had ever seen. The harps Bog had learned to play when he was much younger were simple and made of wood, or they were small folk harps made by plain, simple people, but that didn’t mean the sound wasn’t some of the most beautiful he had ever heard. While this harp was impressive, it didn’t mean much if the instrument itself wasn’t made to be played. 

Reaching out slowly, he gently brushed his fingers against the strings. The strings sounded beautiful. 

Pressing his lips together for a moment in thought, he stood up and moved his chair into position at the back of the harp and slowly leaned the heavy instrument back until it rested against his shoulder. 

He reached out and ran his long fingers once more over the strings, surprised that the strings were tuned. Bog grinned, then closed his eyes and began to play. 

* 

Somewhere deep in the darker parts of the castle, Marianne sat, alone and sad in her quarters. She was trying to read a book, but her mind refused to focus on the words before her. After what had happened in the garden with Bog, Marianne had gone back to her rooms and cried. It was a weak response, but Bog’s questions about who had cursed her brought up so much heartache, anguish, and painful memories she would rather keep buried. 

What made matters worse was that she found herself enjoying Bog’s company, which was dangerous. She couldn’t allow herself to become accustomed to--and especially not enamoured of--the man, because once he was well enough, he had to leave. He simply couldn't stay here and besides...he would want to go. And why wouldn’t he? No one in their correct mind would want to stay here in this cursed castle with its cursed occupants and the monster that she was… 

A wave of pain washed over her, tears welling up again and appearing on her face where her eyes used to be, as the yawning abyss of her loneliness opened up to wash over her heart. She wiped angrily at the tears. 

“No more crying, no more self pity,” she hissed to herself. “Stop it Marianne.” 

Her bedroom fell silent again, but now she could hear the faint chords of music as a harp was played somewhere in the castle, the delicate music echoing down the halls and resounding off the high ceilings. Only one instrument still within the castle could make that sound--her harp, the one she could no longer play. 

She felt a flash of anger that quickly subsided. There was only one person in the castle who wouldn’t know not to touch her harp, and only one person could possibly play her harp so beautifully. 

It had to be Bog. 

Instead of flying into a fury, Marianne listened. This time the tears that began to flow from her cursed mask and over her cheeks were not from the pain of her curse, but because Bog played the harp like an angel. Whatever he was playing, it had to be an original piece of music because she had heard nothing like it before. The delicate notes moved her in a way that nothing had for a long time. 

Putting one hand between her breasts, Marianne gasped softly. Bog continued to play the harp, the music beautiful and heartaching, speaking of pain and loneliness. It felt as if Bog was reaching into her and pulling out all her pain to translate into delicate notes on her harp. She wasn’t aware of the shift, but a little piece of a stone that she had put around her heart to protect it, cracked in that moment and fell away. 

* 

The music that Bog played was something he made up on the spot, a piece of music that spoke of the loneliness he felt, the despair of something washing over him. The music spoke of these deep, sometimes dark emotions before switching to notes that sang of hope in the darkness. Bog found his thoughts drifting to the mistress of the castle, and he played for her, for the broken heart that surely hid behind the facade she wore. 

When he brought the piece to an end, opening his eyes, Bog nearly dropped the harp, his entire body jerking in his shock. Sharing the room with him, along with Isla and the three pixies who were hovering in the air, were three other...people. Though Bog thought the term ‘people’ had to be used rather loosely. 

There was one--a short person that would only come up to Bog’s knees--with large bulbous eyes, and a very distinct frog-like appearance along with greenish-yellow skin, but with far too many teeth to actually be a frog and standing on two feet, also very unfrog-like. Standing next to the frog creature was another...creature...person. Bog wasn’t sure what the creature was exactly. It was taller than the frog with some definite frog-like features as well, but there was something else about the creature that made Bog think of salamanders. The middle one was more greyish-green than greenish-yellow and had small, beady eyes, with fish fin ears and a broad mouth filled with blunt teeth. The last of the three was taller still, built (as Bog’s mother would have said) like a brick privy with thick broad shoulders, a large stomach and an equally large, bald head. There were fish-like aspects to his greyish-brown appearance, fish-like fins on his elbows and his ears were fin-like as well, just like the second one. They reminded Bog a little of nest dolls with the way they were standing in front of him lined up by size. 

Bog tensed up, holding on tightly to the harp and thinking if he had to, he could throw the harp forward. Its weight would knock into the three giving him time to run. But the small group didn’t move as the pixies began to applaud and ramble in their excitement. They were speaking so fast that Bog couldn’t catch any of the words they were saying. The three unknown creatures (that Bog uncomfortably noted were naked) just continued to stare at him, making Bog feel like they were trying to decide if he was worth eating or not. 

The smallest of the new guests smiled, showing off their mouthful of crooked, gaped, dully sharp teeth, and put their clasped hands together against their cheek and looked for all the world as if they were swooning. “That was such beautiful music!” Their voice was soft and had a slightly dazed masculine quality to it. “Just so pretty!!” 

The middle one who had an extremely deep, masculine voice, nodded their head in agreement as they spoke. “That was pretty. Can you sing?” They blinked beady black eyes at Bog expectantly. 

Bog opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. The big one nodded along as well, adding in an even deeper voice. “Yeah. I’m surprised the Mistress didn’t come down here and get angry though--that’s her harp.” He gave Bog a wide-eyed a look with his eyes were just as small and black as the middle creature’s. “She told us we couldn’t touch the harp, we can’t eat pixies,” (here Daisy giggled), “we can’t eat books or use them to wipe our butts, and we can’t track mud into the castle.” The big creature whispered loudly, “She has a lot of rules, but we still like her.” 

Bog frowned looking at the instrument, his hands gliding over the fine sculptural quality of the harp. “This is Marianne’s harp?” He smiled. “She plays?” 

The smallest of the three nodded. “Yep.” 

The small one smiled at Bog, then seemed to suddenly remember something as they blinked their frog-like eyes. “Oh we should introduce ourselves.” They grinned with a snaggle tooth smile. 

“I’m Thang.” He pointed at his small chest then turned his three-fingered clawed hand to the middle one. “...this is Stuff and…” Lastly Thang pointed at the largest of the three. “... that’s Brutus.” 

Stuff gave Bog a short bow while Brutus waved three large, chubby, slightly clawed fingers at him. 

Bog frowned slightly, confused by their names, but he found the tension began to ease from his shoulders. They seemed nice enough. 

“So are you three cursed members of Marianne’s household too?” he asked, then winced inwardly, hoping he hadn’t given offense somehow. 

Stuff shook their head. “Nope. Isla found us and brought us here a long time ago because we were sick and injured. The Mistress fed us and took care of us, so we decided to stay and take care of her and protect her and her sister.” 

Brutus nodded and Thang added with a bright grin. “We’re goblins, by the way!” 

Bog was proud of himself for not jumping immediately to his feet and running from the room screaming, because that was his gut response. Instead his hold on the harp tightened for a moment, his knuckles turning white. Goblins. He had heard terrible stories about goblins. Hell, he had sung terrible stories about goblins. Goblins were loathsome creatures that killed humans and ate them, that served evil overlords, or simply flourished in chaos, yet these three seemed, well, rather polite, Bog thought with a confused frown. 

Swallowing Bog smiled while shoving his fear down. “I’ve never met a gobin before.” 

Thang grinned brightly. “We’ve never met a human before. You’re not as ugly as my grandmother said you were.” 

“Well thank you, but I’m not representative of all humans. We all looked very different.” Bog couldn’t help the smile and the accompanying chuckle. The little goblin had such a sweet, innocent expression, child-like really, though Bog didn’t think the goblin was a child at all. 

“Could you play another tune?” Thang asked only to have Wisteria, Daisy, and Begonia swoop down and hover in front of Bog as if defending him from the goblins. 

“No, no, no!” Wisteria shook her head and gestured with her fingers. “He’s tired and needs to sleep. He’s still recovering.” 

Bog opened his mouth to protest only to have Daisy turn to glare at him pointing a little yellow finger at him. “Don’t you dare say you don’t. We know best.” 

Bog’s mouth snapped shut. For a little pixie, her glare was quite impressive he thought. 

He sighed and stood, gently placing the harp back where he had found it. 

“Fine, you’re probably right. Just wanted to do some more exploring before dinner. “ 

“Well you can explore later, after dinner if you don’t wear yourself out,” Begonia muttered flying up to shove on his shoulder with a surprising amount of strength for such a small creature. “Go!’ she demanded. “Back to your room!” Bog chuckled, turning toward the door. “I’m going. I’m going.” 

He waved over his shoulder at the goblins. “Perhaps I’ll see you lot later?” 

Brutus called out. “You play cards?” 

“I do!” Bog affirmed as the fairies shoved him out of the door and into the hall. 

“Then we should play cards!” Brutus called back. “Sometimes Sunny plays with us too!!” 

“Sounds good!” Bog yelled as he disappeared down the hall being scolded and shoved by three annoyed little pixies. 

* 

It turned out a nap was exactly what Bog needed. 

The moment he laid down, after much fussing by the pixies, forcing him into a sleeping shirt as well as forcing him to drink some chamomile tea, he fell asleep, his body still weaker than he had realized. 

When Bog woke again, his room was lit by candlelight and there was a gentle fire burning in the hearth. He sat up with a groan and rubbed his eyes. He had no idea what time it was, but it had to be close to dinner since his stomach growled uncomfortably, insisting that he was starving. There was a new set of clothing waiting for him as well, and a large enameled cast iron tub filled with warm water setting in front of the fireplace. The water had been scented with roses and lavender, the smell of which filled his bedroom. 

The magic of this place was truly amazing (and a little frightening) Bog thought as he stripped and sank into the tub. He groaned with pleasure as the warm water washed over him. 

* 

After bathing, Bog decided to go ahead with a shave. Instantly, when he turned around, he found a straight razor had appeared while he was bathing (without him seeing anything or anyone else in the room), along with thick cream for his face, before he slipped into the new outfit. Like the other clothes he had worn, they fit him as if made for him. This outfit was a hint fancier than the last suit he had worn to dinner, more suited to a nobleman than a simple traveling minstrel. The tails jacket was a dark blue satin with matching knee britches (apparently the magic of the castle liked him to wear blue Bog thought, then questioned whether the castle was aware. And if the magic was aware...he just as quickly stopped that chain of thought as it made him feel very uncomfortable.) He had been provided with an ivory satin vest embroidered with a gorgeous weave of vines and primroses pattern that could only have been done by magic. The embroidery was done with what looked to Bog to be gold and silver thread along with various colors of silk thread in colors so vibrant that they almost seemed unreal even after he ran his fingertips over them. There was a white cotton shirt to wear underneath that felt soft and comfortable. The cotton shirt had long decorative cuffs that spilled past the wide sleeves of the coat, along with white silk stockings and soft, brown leather boots. 

Bog brushed his short hair back from his face. It was getting a little long, he realized with a slight frown. 

“Might have to think about cutting it,” he muttered then looked suspiciously around. No scissors appeared, causing Bog to snort and shake his head at himself before he grabbed his lute and headed out. 

* 

Outside his room, Bog found the three pixies waiting for him. When they saw Bog step out, all three of them squealed (he assumed it was a squeal, but the sound was far more like someone was blowing a low whistle.) 

“Oh Bog, you look so handsome!!” Wisteria did a quick tour around his head while Daisy and Begonia started at his feet and slowly flew up along his body, one in front of him, one behind him making him feel a little uncomfortable. 

“Oh you do! This is my favorite outfit yet!” Daisy giggled and swirled in the air while Begonia tingled. “Oh yes, so much blue!!” 

Bog blushed several shades of red before he began to walk. “You three joining me for dinner?” 

“Oh no, we just wanted to see you in the outfit.” Daisy giggled while flying around his head. 

Bog frowned. “So I’m eating alone. What about the goblins?” 

“Oh you’re not eating alone!” Wisteria chimed. “The Mistress will be joining you.” 

“She will?” Bog asked with a smile. “I thought after this afternoon…” 

“Nope, we convinced her.” Begonia flew up in front of his face, her tiny fists on her hips. “We can be very convincing.” 

Bog chuckled. “Or badgering.” 

Wisteria’s mouth opened in shock as Daisy frowned and exclaimed, “Hey! Rude!” 

Bog chuckled as he made his way down to the dining room, the pixies following him until he approached the doors. They smiled and waved, wishing him a good evening just before he opened the doors. 

As before, the fire in the hearth burned brightly, candles provided more light, revealing everything in the room. The long table in the middle of the dining room was nearly sagging with a wide variety of foods and wine. The scent of good food hung heavy in the air and Bog’s stomach growled loudly in response. 

He smirked and headed to the table, setting his lute beside him as he pulled his chair out. He had just taken his seat, picked up a bottle of wine and had just started to pour the rich red wine into his goblet when he heard movement at the other end of the room. 

When Marianne entered the room, Bog sucked in a breath. She was dressed in a long sleeve black dress that fitted close to her figure. The front of the dress had a plunging neckline that ended just above her navel, exposing a long stretch of pale, grey skin. The top of the dress was a silver ornate collar that covered her throat and extended to her shoulders, almost like armor, but was too intricately decorated with metal vines and tiny, sparking white jewels to provide real protection. As she moved toward him, the gown fell away to reveal her legs, the slits in the dress cut up to her hips. Her horns were decorated with fine, looping silver chains that held a fine shimmering veil over her nose and lips. 

Bog stood as she came into the room, her hooves making a light clip-clopping sound against the floor. She was simply the most beautiful monster he had ever laid eyes on (not that he had seen a lot of monsters, but Bog had not seen anyone as magically beautiful who was supposed to be a monster either.) 

“Good evening Marianne.” Bog bowed. 

Marianne gave him a soft smile. “Good evening Bog.” 

He hurried over to her chair at the head of the table and pulled it out for her. Marianne inclined her head in thanks as she took her seat. 

“I’m glad you joined me for dinner. I didn’t think you would,” Bog said as he took his own seat again. 

Marianne pressed her lips together for a moment before she responded. “I was convinced I should. You...you did nothing wrong. It is only natural that you would have questions. I’m sorry that I…” Her plum tinted lips turned down in a frown as she look down at her clawed hands in her lap before she said softly, “Please don’t ask me about the curse again.” 

“I won’t--you have my word,” Bog said softly before he smiled. “Would you like some wine?” 

Marianne tilted her head up at him and nodded, a soft grateful smile on her lips. “Thank you, yes.” 

Bog grinned picking up the bottle of wine. “No need to thank me.” He poured some wine into a goblet for her. “Now, what would you like from this vast feast? I will prepare your plate…” 

“Bog you don't…” Marianne began only to have him grin at her and hold his hand up. 

“Now let’s not go through that every time. I’m your guest and I don’t mind at all. So...” 

Marianne smiled at him and inclined her head. “Sorry, of course.” 

“Good.” Bog grinned and started to fill her plate from the offerings on the table, from potted asparagus, to brandied cherries and white chicken fricassee. Marianne smiled at how much Bog heaped onto her plate. She didn’t usually eat much, but he seemed determined to change that. After Bog filled his own plate he sat down next to her on her right side. 

“I don’t know if the girls told you, but I had an interesting day,” Bog began as he cut into his chicken. 

“The girls?” She tilted her head at him in question, causing Bog to laugh. 

“Sorry, I meant Wisteria, Daisy and Begonia,” Bog answered. 

“Oh.” Marianne smiled in amusement before she asked. “You did?” Marianne asked while sipping her wine. 

“I did.” Bog took a bite of his food, making a small, almost comical expression of delight before he swallowed, bringing a smile to Marianne’s lips. His pure pleasure at eating made her oddly happy. She hadn’t taken much joy in anything since the curse had taken effect, but watching Bog enjoy his meal made her feel strangely happy. 

“I met your sister and her husband,” Bog said before taking a sip of his wine. 

Marianne blinked in surprise. “You did?” 

He nodded cutting into one of the meat pastries on his plate. “Yes. Isla led me there.” He smiled gently at Marianne. “She is quite sweet, your sister.” 

Marianne nodded looking sad. “She is. She and her husband didn’t deserve to be wrapped up in my curse.” 

Bog stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth before he set it down on his plate, reaching out and surprising Marianne when he laid his hand over hers, not flinching from her claws. “No one deserves this Marianne, and that includes you.” 

She frowned and spoke softly, looking at him with her eyeless face. “You don’t know that.” 

“I do.” He smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze before he removed his hand from over the top of hers. “I’m a minstrel, I know all the stories and very few who are cursed really deserve it.” 

Marianne chuckled softly. “Really?” 

He nodded once more, resuming his meal. “Yes. I mean, most of the time people get cursed for small things, tiny infractions against something: a rule, a law, a magical entity. And yes, once in a while, someone does something really horrible, but that’s rare. Curses usually result from someone's mouth speaking before their brain catches up to them, being in the wrong place at the wrong time...” Bog took a large bite of his asparagus, speaking around his mouthful. “...or sticking their noses in places they shouldn’t, but nothing really terrible. I mean yes, there are those who are cursed for big things, but in the stories the cursed person often has not done anything wrong so much as being unfortunate.” 

“You have a very unique perspective on these things,” Marianne added while picking at her cherries with her fork. 

Bog shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile. “Maybe. Oh, by the way...I also met your goblins today.” 

“My goblins?” Marianne looked surprised. “You mean Thang, Stuff, and Brutus?” 

Bog nodded. “Yes, the same.” 

“I’m surprised…” Marianne was indeed surprised. The goblins were shy and when they were out, it was usually during the evening hours, seldom during the daylight ones, though it wasn’t as if they had visitors here. 

The minstrel nodded, pulling apart a roll and buttering it while he spoke. “I guess my harp playing brought them out.” He looked over at her as he reached for his wine. “I was told I found your harp. I’m sorry for playing it. If I had known…” 

Marianne lightly shook her horned head. “No...you’re fine. I…” She glanced over at him and Bog could see her smile behind the veil, soft yet sad. “It was lovely to hear it again. I can no longer play…” She held up one of her hands, the long delicate claws on full display. 

“It’s a beautiful instrument,” he commented saying nothing about her claws. 

“It was a gift from my father and mother,” Marianne murmured before she asked. “Would you play for me?” 

Bog smiled, both surprised and pleased. “Of course!” 

Marianne stood. “Give me a moment…” 

Bog watched as she walked across the dining room and out the door, her tail moving sinuously behind her. He frowned a little, noting to himself that her movements were...sensuous...and began to finish off the remains of his meal, his stomach finally silent when Marianne returned, leaving the door open. He stood as she took her seat again. “It’ll be just a few moments…” she murmured. 

Just as Bog turned his attention toward the doorway, a bright colorful shimmering glow of half a dozen pixies, including the three that Bog knew, came slowly into the room. Between them, glowing with a rainbow of colors, the six pixies carried Marianne’s harp. 

Bog’s eyes widened in surprise as they floated the harp over to the fireplace and as gently as possible sat the harp down. There was a slight bump, the harp looked to dangerously tilt, but the pixies straightened it quickly. 

Marianne smiled a soft smile. “I shall leave the harp in this room for you to play whenever you wish.” 

Bog smiled, stood, and bowed his head to her. “Thank you.” 

Marianne’s cheeks colored pink under the pale grey as she looked down at her plate of barely touched food. “It’s nice to have music in the castle again.” 

Bog picked up a napkin from the table and quickly wiped his hands and mouth, picking up his chair to walk over to the harp. He placed the chair in position and sat, glancing over at Marianne as he leaned the harp back against his shoulder. 

“Any requests, my lady?” 

Marianne smiled gently. “No good minstrel. I trust you to play from the heart.” 

Bog smiled at her and Marianne felt a flutter in her chest as he brought his fingers up to the strings. She pressed her lips together, her strange vision brushing over his long fingers. Pausing, Bog frowned in thought before he smiled. Once more, instead of playing something composed by someone else, something popular, Bog went with a tune of his own creation, something he had unconsciously been composing from the moment he touched the harp this afternoon, a piece he had already titled subconsciously, The Beauty of the Thorns, Marianne’s theme… 

Closing his eyes Bog began to play. 

Marianne turned her chair to watch him. 

Bog closed his eyes and played like a man under a spell. He was one with the instrument, with the music. Marianne didn’t recognize the tune and could only assume that it was Bog’s own creation. The music was heartbreakingly sad, speaking of deep loss, yet beautiful. She swallowed feeling the sting of tears while she listened. She felt somehow pleased that she could still cry, though she had no normal eyes anymore. 

The pixies who had brought the harp in had stopped, floating near the ceiling, none of them making a sound. They listened as if entranced, enthralled by Bog’s music. M

arianne heard movement and looked to the dining rooms doors, her hand coming to her mouth in surprise when she saw Sunny’s hulking form filling the doorway. In his arms he carried his wife, her sister, the porcelain doll that was now Dawn looked so small and more fragile than ever before as she clung to the beast that was her husband now. Both of them stared at Bog. Dawn glanced once over at her sister and the smile she gave Marianne broke her heart. 

There was more movement and Marianne looked to the other side of the room to see the goblins appear from the shadows, with them other members of her household, all of them cursed in various ways, filling the shadows, each one staring mesmerized by Bog while he played, the minstrel completely unaware of the audience he had drawn to him with his music. 

Then he did something that made Marianne’s heart hurt--Bog began to sing. 

“The moon and the darkness were her home 

Surrounded by the thorns that held her close 

Prison and protected, her form and her heart 

I walk into your darkness unafraid 

I see your heart, damaged but beautiful…” 

Marianne tried to hold back the tears, but they wouldn’t be denied and began to slowly flow down her boney cheeks. Was he...was he composing a song? She pressed her lips together, her heart thumping quickly against her breastbone. She looked around the room, the people she cared for gathered to listen to this minstrel play, weaving his own sort of magic. Bog had brought something special to her castle, something beautiful, something they hadn’t had in so many years. 

He had brought them together.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if this is one I should continue with....


End file.
